


The lyre and the fur

by harnatano (orphan_account)



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Crack, Or not, actually it could probably happen, because you know, feanorians nerds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-28
Updated: 2016-03-28
Packaged: 2018-05-29 10:34:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6371407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/harnatano
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A present for a friend's birthday.</p>
<p>Timeline: During the long peace.<br/>Place: Himlad.</p>
<p>Maglor has a problem with his lyre, Celegorm as a problem with his favourite stole, Curufin has a problem with his brothers, the cat has a problem with these Noldor and Celebrimbor isn’t amused (or is he?)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The lyre and the fur

“I hope you're happy with yourself.”

Macalaurë had burst into the room with an unexpected violence, but Curufinwë hadn't moved, not even the slightest jump or frown as his brother's words had resonated around him. In a large armchair he was sitting, a scroll in one hand and the other one slowly rubbing the brown fur of a fat, purring cat lying on his lap.

“Did you say something, Kano?” He asked absent-mindedly, his eyes locked on the lines he was reading, purposely ignoring the obvious irritation that rolled within Macalaurë's voice.

Kanafinwë was standing right in front of his little brother, his fists closed on his waist, his face stern, two grey eyes staring at the youngest Noldo. “Stop pretending, Curvo.”

Slowly, Curufinwë put his scroll aside, taking all his time, for he knew it would only make the whole situation more amusing, and with an impassive face he looked back at his brother. “I do not know what you are talking about.”

It was not a lie.

Macalaurë's foot was patting the ground with a quick and yet melodious rhythm that Curufinwë couldn't ignore, and following the same rhythm, his fingers started to pat the arm of the chair. The melody it created was for the least pleasant; even the cat seemed to enjoy it, and she purred in rhythm.

“I did not come to Himlad to have my belongings ruined and ravaged, Atarincë.”

When Kanafinwë – or any of his brothers – used Atarincë instead of Curufinwë, it usually meant that they were deeply irritated by their little brother's behavior. This Curufinwë knew, and yet he couldn't help but laugh quietly at the remark. “Why did you come, then?”

“Excuse me?”

“Why did you come if not to spend some time with your turbulent little brothers and your no less rebellious nephew?” Curufinwë perfectly knew that he was probably pushing the effrontery a bit too far, and thus he decided to hold it back, losing his wicked smile and giving his brother a more serious look. “What happened ”

“You perfectly know what happened. The same thing which had happened for years, decades, when we were younger.” Macalaurë spat, taking but one step toward his brother, pointing his finger at him. “One could think that you, the stern lord of Himlad, would have grown up. But no, no of course, Curufinwë Atarincë is still _the same little brat._ ”

“Careful with your words, brother. Do not forget that you are my guest, here."

“And I am still your older brother, and your former king.”

A smile returned to Curufunwë's lips, a smile that he didn't manage to bite back, so deeply amused by Macalaurë's frustration; this same frustration - impressive but harmless when it was aimed at him - that the had witnessed so many times before, when the young Noldo he used to be could imagine the worst machinations only to test his brothers' patience. “You didn't answer my question Kano, so I’ll give you the pleasure to repeat it: What happened?”

“My lyre.”

Curufinwë raised a brow, intrigued by the reply though he could already guess the heart of the problem. “What about it, Kano?”

“Someone broke one of its strings.”

“That sounds terrible.” Curufinwë replied, faking the deepest concern, a look of sheer trouble twisting his features. “Who would do such a thing?”

“Atarincë...”

“That is my name, indeed.” Oh, the situation was deeply amusing, and behind a his compassionate apparence, Curfinwë was laughing silently. 

He hadn't touched his brother's instrument; He had learned, long ago, that one should never - under any circumstances - touch Macalaurë's instruments. But the situation was too amusing to be ignored, and already he knew that pleading for his innocence wouldn't get him out of trouble. Kanafinwë was as stubborn as any of his brothers, and if he was convinced that Curufinwë was the person behind the incident, then it would be difficult to make him change his mind. “Can you not fix it?”

“I could.” Kanafinwe replied, folding his arms over his chest. “But first, I want you to apologize.”

Eyes widening in cheer surprise - a fake surprise, for he had expected it - Curufinwë let out a loud gasp. ”Are you accusing me, brother?'

“Enough with your lies, Atarincë.”

“Listen, Kano.” Curufinwë started, standing up and carefully putting the cat on the chair he was leaving. With a soft mew, the cat stretched and sat where the Noldo had left his heat and scent, and peacefully she started to clean herself. “Himlad is not like the Gap. Here dwells not only our guards and pages, but also hounds, a few cats which wouldn't listen to any order, two of your brothers and your nephew. All this people and creatures, as wise as they can be, sometimes accidentally become a bit... wilder.”

"Oh, I am pleased to learn that my brothers don't know how to handle their people and pets. What a stupid idea it was to let you and Tyelkormo alone in this wide land.”

And Tyelkormo chose this moment to step into the room; he was coming back from a hunt, or maybe preparing himself for a hunt – it was hard to say – and without a look for his brothers, he paced through the room, apparently looking for something.

Macalaurë and Curufinwë looked at him quietly, for it seemed their brother hadn't even noticed their presence, and growning loudly, Turcafinwë started to on rummage through the drawers, moving the furnitures and looking behind them with an obvious irritation.

“Have you lost something, Tyelkormo?” Curufinwë asked, slightly confused by his brother's attitude.

Suddenly realizing their presence, Turcafinwë glanced at his brothers, and after another incomprehensible growl, he replied. “My stole– the rabbit fur. I was leaving the stables, ready for a hunt, when I realized it wasn't with me. Huan and my horse are still waiting for me outside.”

“Tyelkormo, did you break my lyre.” 

“What?” Obviously, Turcafinwë hadn't expected Macalaurë's question, and already he was staring at him with he most confused wince on his face. “What lyre.”

“My lyre, you know, the instrument which I use to make some music.”

“I am not stupid I know what a lyre is.” There was a glint of sheer annoyance in Turcafinwë's eyes, and although Curufinwë had no clue about this lyre incident, or about the lost stole, he was still enjoying the display in front of him.

“Did you take my stole, Kano.” Tyelkormo replied, and Curufinwë noticed that irritation was giving his voice the most amusing accent, .

“I didn't take nor see your stole.”

“And I don't know anything about your lyre.”

Sitting on the arm of the chair, his hand back on the cat, Curufinwë didn't say anything, observing his brothers instead with a delight that the couldn't hide. And of course, it didn't take long before Macalaurë noticed it.

“Atarincë, enough now!”

“ _And I don't know anything about your lyre._ ” Curvo repeated, mimicking Tyelkormo’s voice and manners with an exactitude that made his brother groan, and after a deadly look – one of those that were reserved for Curvo and Curvo only – he searched for his stole, again, looking under the furnitures, behind the curtains, and even asking the cat if she had seen it.

Curufinwë sighed, exasperated and yet amused, though he could already see how the situation would evolve, and already he could imagine the upcoming storm.

“Curvo.” Macalaurë began, and Curufin could see how bravely his brother was struggling to keep his voice and movements calm. “You don’t even have to apologize anymore; I just want you to confess.”

“Confess?!” Curufinwë almost choked on the unexpected word as he repeated it. “You want me to confess? Oh please Kano, The Ring of Doom is too far from here, and there's no reason to summon the Valarin justice, or wisdom, or however they call it” He gave a sharp smile, one of those who betrayed how much he enjoyed his own speech. “Moreover, dear brother, I have nothing to confess; I am totally innocent.”

“'Innocent' is a word that doesn't sound quite right in your mouth, Curvo.” It was Tyelkoromo’s voice, coming from beneath the sofa, and Curufinwë winced as he watched his brother struggle on the ground, half of his body hidden under the heavy furniture..

“Brother mine, I'm afraid you aren't in the best position to lecture me... What are you doing down there?”

“Looking for the fur.” Came the reply, and as Curufinwë bit back a laugh, Macalaurë rolled his eyes and kicked Tyelkormo's foot. “Don't you understand, Turco?” The irritation in his voice was obvious now, and he peeked sharply at Curufinwë. “Our little brother _must_ know where it is.”

“Me?!” And as Tyelkormo crawled from beneath the sofa, struggling to free his shoulders which were now stuck between the floor and the furniture, Curvo stared at his brothers, agape. 

Curufinwë was actually innocent - for once; he hadn't touched his brother’s lyre, and concerning the fur, he was convinced Tyelkormo had forgotten it in the most inappropriate place... as usual.

Finally, Turcafinwë managed to free his body and he sat on the floor, silver hair covered with dust and tangled in a very confusing way.”'It's not there.”

“Did you ask the cat?” Curufinwë didn't even try to mask the derision that his question implied, and much to his surprise, Tyelkormo didn't seem to notice it.

“She said it wasn't her business.” He replied, almost sadly. “She said she was tired of our dramas.”

“So am I.” Curufinwë added, sharing a knowing look with the cat.

“Does she know anything about my lyre?” Maglor inquired, stepping towards Turcafinwë and dusting his hair and shoulders – a habit he had kept from their youth, when, as one of the oldest brothers, he had to look after the younger ones.

Used to the gesture, Tyelkormo didn't protest. “She said it wasn’t her.”

Maglor replied with a disappointed sigh. Both of them slowly turned toward Curufinwë, who was still enjoying the scene and his brothers' exasperation. “It wasn't me either.” He said calmly.

Tyelkormo stood up suddenly, and walked to his little brother, pointing his finger at him, but before he could say anything, he was stopped by the sound of a cough. The three Fëanorians turned, only to notice that Tyelperinquar was standing on the threshold, staring at them. There was no actual way to know for how long he had been standing there, and Curufinwë noticed the look of boredom which was floating in his eyes.

“Ah, Tyelpe dearest, could you tell your uncles to--”

But Curufin didn't finish his sentence, stopped by Tyelkormo's hand upon his collar. “Nephew, could you ask your father where he put my stole.”

“Which one?” Asked Tyelperinquar, and Curvo frowned with indignation, realizing that, not only his son wouldn't stop Tyelkormo, but also that he would gladly tattle about him.

“The grey fur, rabbit. You know.”

“Haven't seen it in a week.” Tyelperinquar replied, stepping into the room. “Father, where did you put uncle Tyelkormo's stole?”

“I didn't-- Ouch Tyelko! You're hurting me!” Stuggling in his brother's grip, Curufinwë managed to pull away, and with the most disdainful look he ajusted his garment. “Savage.” He whispered, peeking at Turcafinwë.

Meanwhile, Tyelperinquar had walked to the armchair and picked up the cat carefully, ignoring his father and uncle's squabble. “Now, could you all please stop talking so loudly; I have some work to do.”

“Yes, exactly.” Curufinwë approved, resting a hand on his son's shoulder – at least they were on the same side about this. Or so he thought. “We have some work to do, so could you please, leave us in peace, brothers.”

Frowning, Tyelperinquar looked at him. “Father, I was also talking for you. I could hear your voice from my room. Your impersonation of uncle Tyelkormo was terrible.”

Swallowing back any further comment, Curufinwë simply winced and turned away, hiding his embarrassement behind a fake cough.

“Your father broke my lyre!” Macalaurë spat, and his words were soon followed by Tyelkormo's angry statement.

“And he stole my fur!”

“Father, why did you break and steal your brother's belongings?” Tyelperinquar asked calmly, almost gently, though irony was echoing in his voice with a subtletly that seemed directly inherited from his father. And in Curufinwë was now rising an odd feeling, in wich exasperation and annoyance were merging with the pride of a father contempling his son's smartness and subtlety. "Kano, the last time I broke one of your instruments I was still a child! I have grown up since.” He protested,

“What about that viol you broke after I allowed you to try playing it?” There was no amusement, no sympathy anymore in Kanafinwë's voice, but Curvo wouldn't let his brother impress him.

“Oh, I remember this!” Tyelperinquar added, standing now beside his uncles. “I was there, father. You weren't a child anymore.”

“It was an accident!” Curufinwë replied, outraged. 

“Father, we all know that accidents do not happen to you. You are too careful for that.”

Curvo was about to reply, but once again, his son had managed to make him fall speechless. If the three of them decided to speak against him, Curufinwë knew that he had but a few chances to be able to defend himself. He had to react quickly and smartly.

He took a deep breath, watched his son and his brothers silently for a few seconds, and finally talked, as clamly as possible – but one could notice the deep irritation and sarcasm that were rolling from his lips. “Turco, your stole must be where you left it, that is where you fell asleep after the two bottles of dwarvish mead that you wholeheartedly swallowed up last night, that is, probably in the kennel.” The reply that came from Turcafinwë was nothing but a loud groan, and mumbling a few curses, he left the room. Ignoring him, Curufinwë turned to Macalaurë, and continued. “Kano, I do not know what happened to your lyre, but if you keep the door that leads to your room open and leave your instruments on the floor – next to the pieces of cake you have stolen from the kitchens - you will utlimately attract a few cats – or worse. Cats love playing with strings. And they love cakes.”

“How do you know about the cake?” Offence was twisting Kanafinwë's face.

“Kano, everyody knows about your ongoing addiction to sugar.”

It was Macalaurë’s turn to leave the room indignantly, and without a word he slammed the door behind him.

A sigh of relief left Curufinwë's lips. He had a headache now, the typical kind of headache that only his brothers could bring, and all he wanted was a glass of wine, a cat on his lap and silence. But the cat was in Tyelperinquar’s arms, and the youngest Noldo took a few steps and stood beside his father, silent, though Curvo noticed the amused smirk that danced his son's lips. “Tyelpe... ?”

“Yes, father?”

It didn't take long before he understood and saw the truth behind his son's smirk, for there was, in Tyeleprinquar's eyes, a pride which could only be awoken by the delight of a successful plan. Curvo knew this pride, and he knew this smirk; oh yes he knew them too well: too many times he had seen them in the mirror.

He tilted his head, staring at his son with a mix of admiration and exasperation. “When have you become such a good liar?”

“It's not about lying, father, it's about pretending.” Said Tyelperinquar with a proud smile. “just like you taught me.”

With a wink, he headed to the door, holding the cat and leaving his father alone with his confusion and surprise. But Curufinwë stopped him before he could reach the door. “One last lesson, son: next time, keep your teacher away from your machinations, and do not blame him in order to protect your honor.”

Tyelperinquar pondered the advice, nodding gratefully at his father. But soon, the serious look in his eyes faded, replaced by the smirk which he apparently couldn't keep away from his lips. “Unless my teacher appears to be taken for a for ride.” 

And thus Tyelperinquar left, leaving his father speechless, worried, but no less admirative.

**Author's Note:**

> Curufinwë/Atarincë/Curvo: Curufin  
> Kanafinwë/Macalaurë/Kano: Maglor  
> Turcafinwë/Tyelkormor/Turco: Celegorm  
> Tyelperinquar/Tyelpe: Celebrimbor  
> Himlad: Curufin and Celegorm's land in Beleriand  
> The Gap: Maglor's Gap, his land in Beleriand.


End file.
